Investigating the Faery Myth or The Facts Concerning the Occupants of the Gaelic Otherworld

by Sítheag Nic Trantham bean Bochanan

The dilemma presents itself in countless "flower fairy" books on coffee tables and in nurseries. It continues as children view Disney films at home on the VCR. It is furthered by myriad new age systematic viewpoints touting "faeries" as le dernier cri. The dilemma: the general public is wholly misinformed about the fey. In fact, very few people have had the materials to actually study the progenitors of today's sweet, harmless Tinkerbells. Luckily, the recent worldwide expansion into Celtic Studies, and its current popularity, have done a great deal to dissipate the misconceptions regarding the modern faery mythos. The facts concerning the nature of the occupants of the Gaelic Otherworld show these, the original faeries, to be quite different from modern society's view. So different, in fact, as to cast a shadow of doubt upon the veracity of the modern conception of what it means to be fairy.

The term "fairy tale" is a loose English translation of what is more accurately called hausmärchen(1) in German, and béal oideas(2)in Irish, for not all folktales contain "faeries". The main focus, of course, will be on the early béal oideas which were scholastically collected and contain the entities in question. From these Gaelic tales one can begin to formulate distinct images of what exactly the occupants of the Gaelic Otherworld were like in appearance and attitude, according to earlier oral consensus. Several outstanding features are apparent throughout béal oideas concerning Gaelic faeries (otherwise known as "the good folk", "the gentry", "the hosts", and an sídhe) such as the presence of the color red in both names and clothing articles, the color green(3), a proficiency in mischievous, intricate braiding, appearance at liminal times and places, foreknowledge of mortals' names, the need to be acknowledged before binding a mortal, the need for mortals' aid in their works, the habit of living underground, underwater or in cairns, a predisposition for causing bodily harm to mortals and their livestock, and an occasional foray into graciousness. On the question of size, the later Gaelic Faeries show just as much of a tendency towards an outsized mode as petite. Indeed, to clarify even further, many faeries are indistinguishable from mortals at first glance.

Many scholars trace the spiritual connotations of the Gaelic Fairy back to the eldrich narratives found in sections of the Lebor na hUidre (Book of the Dun Cow) which was compiled in the monastery of Clonmacnoise sometime during the twelfth century. Due to the poor condition of the Lebor na hUidre, most scholastic interpretations come from the Book of Leinster (circa 1160), which is some four centuries younger than the Lebor na hUidre but contains some of the tales in a more complete form. These stories are thought to be the surviving versions of epic hero legends told in the high courts of Ireland.

Of particular interest is the presence of the color red throughout béal oideas(4) and ancient tales concerning the good folk. One enigmatic figure found in unusual situations throughout both the Lebor na hUidre and the Book of Leinster is a "man" of considerable power called Cu Roi (Red Dog) mac Dairi. Some experts speculate that he may be a more refined version of a character named Da Derga (The Red), found in some of the older tales(5). It is at his home, Tara Luachra, that the strange tale of "The Intoxication of the Ulstermen" takes place. In the story, Tara Luachra is described "if it were empty before or after, it is not that night it was empty(6)" which puts the home of Cu Roi mac Dairi in quite a shifting, liminal state. He is also the foster-father of one Maine Mo Epert, son of Medb of Connaught, who has definite ties to the classical sídhe in the tales, and to an extent is considered a euhemerized ancient battle goddess. In the tale, the fighting men of Ulster become greatly intoxicated and participate in a wild ride which covers the expanse of Ireland in just a few hours(7). They end up at Tara Luachra, where Cu Roi, Medb, and Ailill are celebrating one month of fosterage of their son Maine Mo Epert. During the dawn hours (liminal time frame), the druids accompanying Medb notice the band, but do not recognise them. Cu Roi knows each by description alone. The final description of a member of the Ulster host is of a curious nature, and Cross and Slover translate it as such:

"Here in front of them to the east, outside," said Crom Deroil (one of Medb's druids) "I saw a large-eyed, large-thighed, noble-great, immensely tall man, with a splendid gray garment around him; with seven short, black, equally smooth cloaklets around him; shorter was each upper one, longer each lower. At either side of him were nine men. In his hand was a terrible iron staff, on which were a rough end and a smooth end. His play and amusement consisted in laying the rough end on the heads of the nine, whom he would kill in the space of a moment. He would then lay the smooth end on them, so that he would reanimate them in the same time."(8)

Cu Roi knows this gentleman well, and describes him thus:

"The great Dagda, son of Ethliu, the good god of the Tuatha Dé Dannan. To magnify valor and conflict he wrought confusion upon the host in the morning this day, and no one in the host sees him."

The Ulstermen subsequently are entertained in an iron house which is then heated until they are all almost cooked alive. Luckily, the legendary hero Cu Chullain is with them, and he manages, with his great strength, to free his comrades. There are other tales in which Cu Roi appears as the instigator of a new test for the hero Cu Chulainn, each as strange as the one before(9). Note Cu Roi's role as the bachlach (frightening man) of Bricriu's Feast, and the tests he challenges Cu Chullain with during the hero's contention for the Champion's Portion. The "Red Dog" even dies on the day of Samhain (the most liminal time in the Celtic year), at the hand of Cu Chullain, after being betrayed by his wife. The concept of "testing the mettle" of mortals is a common one throughout stories of the "good folk" in later Irish béal oideas, as well.

Some scholars maintain that the Gaelic faeries are simply diminuitive manifestations of the Tuatha Dé Dannan, or early Irish gods. However, there is some confusion on this point, considering that the sídhe are mentioned in the ancient tales as being separate from the Tuatha Dé(10) at intervals, and at other times being ruled by the Tuatha Dé(11). In "The Wooing of Etain", the fairy man Mider of Bri Leith (a known fairy mound) tests the wit of Eochaid Airem (Etain's mortal husband) in several matches of fidchell (an early form of chess). In the end, Mider wins Etain away from Eochaid. Eochaid's greed and hubris found him an unworthy husband for Etain. In "The Wooing of Etain", Mider is labelled what he is, a being from a fairy mound.

As of yet, there still stands no instance of the Tuatha Dé being called unarguably one in the same with the sídhe. There is a trend amongst some researchers to consider this question in a geometric light, in the instance of rectangles and squares: like all rectangles are not squares, all sídhe are not Tuatha Dé. It is true that both live in the sídhe mounds (indicative of the overall Otherworld) and that some of the higher members of the gentry can trace their lines through to the Tuatha Dé, but the tales in which those good folk are found are the self-same tales that delineate the difference between Tuatha Dé and sídhe. If there resides any evidence of a conclusive, irrevocable link between the two, the chances are great that said evidence was lost during transcription by Irish monks, and the lack of which has since evolved the sídhe, through béal oideas, into the beings that we know as the Gaelic Faeries. Which leads us to later béal oideas, where the "evolved" good folk are as clearly defined as an enigmatic race of otherworldly beings can be.

One of the most distinctly outlined instances of mortal contact with the faery folk is illustrated in a bit of béal oideas collected on May 18th, 1933 by Proinsias Ó Chéilleachair. It was transcribed in Cúl an Bhucaigh, parish of Ballyvourney, county Cork as relayed by a storyteller that had heard the tale told 70 years earlier by his mother(12). The story is called "The Man Who Had No Tale", and is delightful in that it not only relates close encounters with some real Irish fairies, but also illustrates the rural Irish custom of hospitality and its implied repayment in the form of some type of entertainment. It also might be mentioned that the name of the main character, Rory, has its roots in the color red.

In the tale, our hero, Rory O' Donoghue is caught by nightfall on his way to sell stockings at a neighboring fair. Upon seeing a well-lit home, he peeks in to find a very old man who bids him, by name, to come in. At this point, things begin to get weird. A chair pulls itself up by the fire, and the old man requests Rory to have a seat. The old man then declares to the air around him, "Rory O' Donoghue and myself would like to have our supper." An intricate dance of inanimate objects ensues as dinner makes itself for the old man and his guest. After they'd eaten, dinner cleans itself up, and the old man offers to Rory: "Do you know, Rory, how I spend my nights here? I spend one-third of each night eating and drinking, one-third telling stories, and the last third sleeping. Sing a song for me now, Rory."

This proves to be a test Rory cannot pass, as it turns out, he's never sung a song in his life. The old man, in a negotiable mood, requests a tale, then, instead. This, also, is impossible for our hero, for he's never told a tale in his life. "Off out the door with you, then!(13)" replies the old man, and the door slams itself on Rory on his way out. So, Rory strikes out along the darkened roadside, and after walking awhile comes upon a campfire.

Beside campfire is a "man" roasting some meat upon a spit. The man welcomes Rory to his fire by name, and requests that Rory turn the meat on the spit for him, but not to burn it. No sooner does Rory take hold of the meat, then the man disappears, and the meat begins to talk to Rory. In his horror, Rory leaps up and takes off down the road, with the meat and the spit in hot pursuit. In the end, they catch up with him and beat him about the back and neck as he runs. Upon spying a house, Rory opens the door and runs in. Lo and behold, it is the same house he had spent time in earlier that evening, and the old man is in bed. The old man welcomes Rory by name, and asked what had happened to him. Rory related the tale, and the old man responds:

"Ah, Rory! If you had a story like that to tell me, when I asked you, you wouldn't have been out until now. Lie here on the bed now, and sleep the rest of the night."

The next morning, Rory awakens with his bag of stockings under his head, and not a house to be seen around him.

The proliferation of evidence of Gaelic Fairies in this tale is unarguable. Both members of the "gentry" looked mortal enough, but do things in a very special way. The old man makes his appearance at dusk, a liminal time, and by the time Rory flees his home, a third of the night has passed. This makes the entrance of the second man approximately around midnight (another liminal time). Both "men" address Rory by name, and he is bound by his acknowledgement of them to a sequence of very bizarre events. And though they do not live in the mounds, the substantiating elements of liminality, foreknowledge of Rory's name, and his subsequent and subtle binding indicate that these creatures are indeed members of the host. There is also the not-so-subtle hint of inanimate objects moving of their own volition, which is there to help "clue in" the younger members of the listening audience, and to add a nightmarish element to the tale. According to Sean O' Sullivan, this type of fantastic, macabre adventure was popular in Ireland (citing one hundred and thirty-seven versions), and was often told as a humorous narrative.

The presence of the fairy man at the spit in "The Man Who Had No Tale" runs parallel with an interesting breed of Gaelic Fairies known as Fear Dearg, or "Red Man"(14). This brand of Gaelic Faery is found in some of the most terrifying béal oideas documented (which in true Celtic style is sometimes the most humorous). In "Far Darrig in Donegal", which was collected by Letitia Maclintock, and first published in the Dublin University Magazine in 1878, a tinker by the name of Pat Diver finds himself in Rory O' Donoghue's position when he is unable to "sing for his supper" one evening while travelling through Innishowen (an area noted for its hospitable residents).

Embarrassed at his own inability to recite song, tale, or lie, (and thrown out on his ear) Pat Diver decides to make a night's residence in the barn behind the house from which he was rejected. Who should he meet here, but four outsized Fear Dearg who, like Rory O'Donoghue's bane, welcome a terrified and hidden Pat Diver by name, and request that he mind, and not burn, the spit of meat they are cooking (which happens to be a human corpse). As soon as the Fear Dearg leave, the meat erupts into flame, and Pat flees the barn screaming, for he knows that the burnt meat will mean the end of him when the Fear Dearg return from their macabre business. He runs for awhile, then ends up in a drain, where he figures he will hide until morning comes. He was not hiding for long when the Fear Dearg relocated him wet and terrified in the drain.

Noting Pat Diver's condition, they request (by name) that he carry the fresh corpse they had procured during their night's ramblings. Pat Diver, hysterical with fear, ends up carrying the body to the Kiltown Abbey ruins, where the Fear Dearg begin to dig a grave for it. Seeing another opportunity to flee, poor Pat scales the nearest hawthorne tree and waits to see if he is discovered. Of course, the Fear Dearg know where he is, and request of him (by name) to come down from his hiding place and aid with the digging. Just as Pat clambers down and lays his trembling hands on the spade, the cock crows that morning is nigh. This is the exit call for the Fear Dearg, who warn Pat that the cock crow was his salvation:

"We must go," said they, "and well it is for you, Pat Diver, that the cocks crowed. For if they had not, you'd just ha' been bundled into that grave with the corpse.(15)"

Two months later, Pat Diver happens upon a fair in Raphoe, County Donegal. Amongst the daylight crowd he sees one of the Fear Dearg from his nightmarish ordeal, and the big man reminds him:

"Do you not know me, Pat?" Whisper "When you go back to Innishowen, you'll have a story to tell!"

Another bit of béal oideas in which bizarre events surround a mortal after coming in contact with the gentry can be found in W.B. Yeats incomparable Fairy and Folk Tales of Ireland, a very early compilation of gathered stories from the Gaelic speaking communities. The tale, a rather small piece gathered by a less than professional collector by the name of William Carelton, is entitled "Paddy Corcoran's Wife(16)", and deals with the issue of an untraceable illness that has been afflicting the aforementioned woman for quite some time. She could eat very little, and had proceeded to waste away, whereupon she was visited by one of the "good people" who was "dressed in a neat red cloak". The woman-fairy informed her:

"For all the time you've been ill, if you'll take the thrubble to remimber, your childrhe trewn out yer dirty wather afther dusk an' before sunrise, at the very time we're passin' yer door, which we pass twice-a-day. Now, if you avoid this, if you throw it out in a different place, an' at a different time, the complaint you have will lave you"

This is only one of the little unwritten "rules" concerning the Gaelic Faerie. Had Paddy Corcoran's wife been raised by "proper folk", she would have known better than to throw her dirty water out at such liminal times as dusk and dawn, and had such a practice been absolutely necessary, she would have shouted a warning so that the gentry would have a chance to duck out of the way. There are similar tales such as this where lax housewives have been plagued by braided linens on the line, illness, and sour milk due to poor housecleaning habits (not scrubbing the donkeystones (17)) or not having clean and proper white linen or lace curtains in the windows. It is believed by some scholars that these "fairy morals" were passed down from mother to daughter to insure that a respectable household was kept, and that family honor remained pristine.

As a matter of fact, many common Irish phrases and habits can be found to be rooted in such "fairy morals". For instance, a person doting on a child or newborn may be heard to say, "Bless her little heart" after paying that child a compliment. It was thought by the Irish and Scottish, and not too long ago, that paying a beautiful child a compliment, or stating that a child was ill would attract the attention of the "good people", who would find that child appealing in its angelicness, or easier to make off with while in its sickbed(18). Blessing the child after such statements protected it from such shenanigans. Also at risk for abduction were pregnant women (the closer the woman to delivery, the greater the danger), newborns on the day of their birth, unchristened babes, young men and women at the onset of puberty, people engaged to be married, brides on their wedding night before consummation(19), and travelers on the road during the "inbetween times" of dawn, dusk, midday, or midnight(20). Note the recurring theme of liminality in the aforementioned qualifications for molestation. Many experts have pointed out that during all of these phases of human life extra care may need to be taken to insure both physical and societal survival, and that these "fairy morals", though they seem trivial, were so entwined in the daily lives of the Gaelic people that they may be the echoes of important tribal values from the past.

It is true that there are some "typical" Gaelic Faeries in the collections of béal oideas, but virtually none that display grossly tiny bodies under a foot high and wings are definitely not respectable in the circles of proper Gaelic "gentry". One certainly won't catch a member of the sídhe flitting from flower to flower, nor will they respond to the beck and call of mortals (unless there is a bit of mischief or harm they can do to their new-age summoner for the inconvenience of being disturbed). But what the Gaelic Faeries will do, as it is shown in the archives of folktale collectors and Irish and Scottish folk practice, is bestow upon mortals what they wrought for themselves. For in the old countries, hard work, a quick mind, a good heart, and clean living are the trademark of a happy home, and laxness, inhospitality, and lack of consideration beget what they sow. No, you won't find any of the documented good folk buzzing about under an azalea leaf in grandmother's garden for you see, they tend to leave garden duty, amongst other sweet stuff, to the faeries across the channel, and south of Hadrian's Wall.

Footnotes

hausmärchen - trans. household tale. See The Folktale by Stith Thompson, pg. 7

béal oideas- trans. mouth-learning

"Sir Gawain and the Green Knight" cross ref. "Bricriu's Feast", AIT pg. 277

"fear dearg" (red man), Fairy and Folk Tales of Ireland, pg 75

see "The Destructionof Da Derga's Hostel", AIT, pg. 93,
"Intoxication of the Ulstermen", AIT, pg.223

the factor of shortened time, some speculate, indicates a breach into the Otherworld.

"Intoxication of the Ulstermen", AIT pg. 229

"Bricriu's Feast", AIT pg. 254 "The Tragic Death of Cu Roi Mac Dair"", AIT pg. 328

see "The Wooing of Etain", AIT pg. 82

see "The Dream of Oenghus", A Celtic Miscellany, pg 94

see Folktales of Ireland, pg. 274

This illustrates the Gaelic proverb "Give a song, give a story, tell a lie, or hit the road."

See Fairy and Folk Tales of Ireland, pg. 75

see Fairy and Folk Tales of Ireland, pg. 86

see , pg.37

"donkeystones", or the limestones at the threshold of Irish doorways, were whitewashed in proper homes, usually on St. Brighid's Day.

See Carmina Gadelica, pg 513

See "Master and Man", Fairy and Folk Tales..., pg 82

See "Master and Man", Fairy and Folk Tales..., pg 79

Works Cited

Carmina Gadelica, compiled by Alexander Carmichael, Lindisfarne Press, 1992. ISBN 0-940262-50-9

Ancient Irish Tales, translated and edited by T.P. Cross and C.H. Slover, Barnes and Noble Books, 1996. ISBN 1-56619-889-5

Fairy and Folk Tales of Ireland, edited by W.B. Yeats, Collier Books,1986. ISBN 0-02-055640-3

Folktales of Ireland, edited and translated by Sean O' Sullivan, University of Chicago Press, 1968. ISBN 0-226-64000-0

A Celtic Miscellany, compiled by Kenneth H. Jackson, Penguin Books, 1971. ISBN 0-14-044247-2

The Folktale, by Stith Thompson, University of California Press, 1977. ISBN 0-520-03537-2

prepared by Sítheag Nic Trantham bean Bochanan

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